The phantom, p.16
The Phantom, page 16
Roux stepped forward, putting his body less than an inch from hers. Challenging her. And yes, highjacking her good sense.
“Do you, Lyla? Are you ready for this?”
Yes. No. Maybe? Her heart skipped a beat. “I think you’ve forgotten the threat of chains. But I haven’t. As soon as you come at me with those shackles, the fight is on.” A fight the ruby guaranteed she’d lose.
“I expect no less.”
Would he truly keep her bound in front of so many foes?
Daring him to complain, she very obviously pilfered two of his daggers from the desk and stomped toward the bathroom.
“What if we agree to a second truce?” he asked, his tone flat.
Hmm. Blythe halted in the doorway and executed a slow turn. He wore his blank mask, but oh, his body language told a different story. He feared her response.
“Go on. I’m listening.” What price would she pay to maintain her freedom? But more importantly, what price would he pay?
“I won’t put shackles on you today, and you won’t attempt to kill me or escape. We’ll use the reprieve to catalogue our surroundings and learn what we can about the threats against us.”
It wasn’t a bad idea, actually. But like she’d really make this easy on him. Not after their last negotiation.
She hit him with a smug grin. “I’m waiting to hear what I get from this bargain.”
His lids slitted. “I think you know what you get.”
“Tell me anyway.” How much power would he cede to her?
“You get...whatever you want.”
Her eyes widened. Tremors swept through her limbs. Whatever she wanted? As in anything? For the Astra to make such an open-ended offer, it could mean only one thing. He would cede much power.
Did Roux have...feelings for her?
“Deal,” she said, an embarrassing wobble in her voice. “I’ll let you know when I decide.”
* * *
“I’m Tonka, by the way.”
Blythe eyed the day’s escort. A fellow harpy who hadn’t sided with her on the day of Roux’s arrival. The female led the way with Blythe behind her, and Roux trailing Blythe. She had no doubt the Astra tracked her every move. The heat of his gaze bored into her back, keeping her blood white-hot.
“Oh, so you’re deigning to talk to the it now?” she asked the harpy with forced breeziness.
“What can I say?” The blonde was as happy and chirpy as could be, as if her dreams were coming true right before her eyes. Grinning, she spread her arms wide. “This is an amazing day.”
“Is it? Do tell.”
“Kerry—you might know her as the manticore—has decided to fight on behalf of the entire royal council,” the harpy said. “We are united, making us one, after all. She is our representative.”
They thought they were doing something big with this move? That they’d cover all their bases in the effort to “trap” Roux, letting one woman risk her life while the others plotted from the sidelines? No need to ask why they’d chosen Kerry over everyone else. If her abilities were anything like Laban’s, she could rip out throats with her teeth and paralyze her opponents with a toxin that leaked from her claws.
“Not gonna protest?” Tonka asked. “I don’t know if you noticed, but she’s not like other females of her kind. She mean.”
“Why bother protesting?” Every member of the welcome party was a dead woman walking whether they entered the tournament or not.
On the second story of the palace, they descended another flight of steps.
“What’d you do to be banished to this realm, anyway?” Blythe asked, changing the subject.
Bitterness contorted Tonka’s features. “The year of General Nissa’s coronation, I discovered her in bed with a lover. Rather than murder me to keep her secret, she sent me here.”
Ouch. In those days, the virgin rule had been strictly enforced. Had anyone learned General Nissa liked to entertain gentleman callers regularly, she would have lost her seat of authority.
Finally, their threesome hit the first level of the silo. In the center of the rounded foyer was a stone wishing well. Or what looked to be a wishing well. It seemed to grow from the floor itself.
Tonka climbed onto the ledge and saluted Blythe and Roux. “See ya down below.” That said, she stepped off and whooshed through the opening, disappearing into the darkness.
Roux grabbed Blythe’s arm before she could follow suit. “We go together, she-beast.”
She should protest. But she didn’t. She nodded, letting him wind his strong arms around her and gather her close. His heat and scent enveloped her, a dangerous combination, and she sort of sagged against him. Not intentionally. It happened without thought. Beneath her cheek, his heart raced.
“Hurry,” she rasped. She needed this to end, like, now, before she did something worse than burrow closer.
He slid his hands to her backside and squeezed, reminding her of the last time they’d stood like this. How close they’d come to crossing a line they’d never be able to uncross. “I could hold you here until release becomes your price for our bargain.”
Ahhh. Diabolical Astra. This had been his plan all along. “A game of sexual chicken?” she asked, sliding her palms up his chest. “While the fight rages to become the center of your blessing task, no less.”
He petted her hair. A simple action, but her eyes shut, a feeling of homecoming washing over her. Almost better than—No. No, no, no. Her eyelids popped open. Game over. Roux won.
“I’ll pay your toll,” she stated, dropping her arms to her sides. Cold invaded her veins. “Consider us even.”
He frowned, evincing confusion, but gave a little nod. “Very well.” He took her hand, flashed her to the ledge of the well, and stepped into the black hole in the center. Down they fell, whisking through shadows like bricks tossed into water.
Her heart jumped into her throat.
The second they passed a layer of blue light, they slowed, floating to a stop on a foundation of compacted dirt and smooth rocks.
Blythe immediately extracted her fingers from the Astra’s. From his strength and heat. His scent. The unexpected comfort of him.
A gaggle of voices offered a distraction, drawing her gaze. Oh, wow. Okay. Underground fight club indeed. She stood in a massive torch-lit cave that was both tall and wide. Taller and wider than many mortal buildings. The dazzling crystal ceiling—the same crystals as the crown—couldn’t be reached if a dozen ladders were stacked on top of each other.
Up ahead was what looked to be a Roman coliseum of old, ringed by stone bleachers. A canopied dais topped the north section—a dais she, Roux, and Tonka climbed countless steps to reach. The other councilmembers were already there and seated. Minus the manticore, of course. And surprise, surprise, there were only two open seats. One meant for Tonka the harpy, the other meant for Roux. Message received. Blythe was unwanted.
Only a handful of spectators sat in the bleachers but countless others waited on the sand below, armed and clearly eager for the first battle to commence.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Tonka asked, motioning to the cavern. “The original captives of Ation still talk about the dragons who torched the realm’s surface, causing widespread destruction. While the fire-breathers hibernated within the walls of this underground labyrinth, our strongest soldiers dug down to hunt them. Once the creatures were eradicated, the settlers turned the area into the fight zone.”
Forget the chairs. Blythe moved to the edge of the dais. There was no rail to perch upon, only a long drop to splat.
Roux sidled up to her side, and she halfway expected him to wind an arm around her waist to ensure she stayed put. When he didn’t...yeah, disappointment set in. Which disappointed her! Her hatred might have gotten buried, but it hadn’t faded. The seeds still grew in the rich soil of her heart.
Get it together, girl.
Tonka joined them at the ledge and shouted down at the masses, “Who’s ready to make her dreams come true?”
Deafening cheers rang out. As they died down, the harpy proclaimed, “Imma count down to ten. Anyone in the ring when I finish is officially entered in the tournament. There will be no backtracking afterward. The only way out is death or victory. Now is the time to change your mind and hustle into the stands.”
More cheers. Then, the countdown began. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six.”
Between the “seven” and “six,” a swift click-clack of footsteps caught Blythe’s attention. In unison, she and Roux stiffened and spun. Too late. A large beast—Penelope’s beast, Amal—was already airborne and mere inches away.
It slammed into Blythe, ramming her belly with its snout. As she hurled over the ledge, pinpricks of warmth registered at the collision site. The warmth quickly mutated into streams of fire that poured through her veins.
Down she tumbled, unable to flail. Unable to move, period. Her muscles had petrified. Courtesy of Amal’s toxin?
“Five. Four.”
Roux must have calculated the trajectory of her fall, as well as her landing, because he flashed to the bleachers, extending his reach to catch her. If not for a horde of wraiths who materialized above him, each projecting Blythe’s image, causing him to shift his stance.
“Three. Two.”
Blythe landed in the sand. Impact bruised her brain, stole her breath, and broke several of her bones. She twitched for a millisecond, shedding the toxin, then lumbered to her feet.
“One.”
New cheers sounded all around her. She lifted her gaze to Roux’s.
Eyes of bloodred narrowed to slits. Because he knew what she did: the wraith had proven more diabolical than expected.
“No one can harm the harphantom!” At his sides, his hands fisted again and again. “That was our deal, and our deal still stands.”
“He’s right,” Tonka announced to one and all, so smug it grated on Blythe’s every nerve. “Our deal still stands. His female is a combatant, plain and simple. As he agreed, he cannot interfere with the outcome of the tournament in any way, shape, or form. In the ring, you may do whatever you wish to the phantom.”
Yeah. Exactly what Blythe had figured.
She rolled back her shoulders, denying the urge to rub the ruby entrenched so firmly at the base of her throat. No doubt the wraith planned to drain her the second the battle began.
“Today is a free-for-all,” the harpy continued, again speaking to the masses. “When the horn blows, you’ll have ten minutes to take out as many of your competitors as possible.”
Every other combatant focused on Blythe, target number one.
Determination stiffened her spine and aggression filled her wings. “Bring it,” she snapped. Somehow, some way, she would survive this. Then oversee her vengeance as planned.
No other option was acceptable.
16
THE PROBLEM
The horn blasted, echoing from the cavern’s rocky walls. Roux reeled. Blythe had been drafted into the battle. She must fight to the death to become Ation’s queen. As soon as she wore that cursed crown, Roux must kill her.
Horror deluged him.
The battle whipped into a swift frenzy, and there was no way to stop it. A ten-minute countdown had commenced.
As hundreds of immortals converged on each other, a good percentage of them aimed their menace at a stalwart Blythe. He returned to the dais. At the edge of the dais, he drove his claws into a stone pillar. Will not flash down there. But I want to. But I won’t.
The harphantom disappeared in the masses. Dead bodies piled around her. Strain coiled through Roux. The escaped prisoner screamed in his head. Easy to ignore. He didn’t care who the escapee was or why the being reacted to Blythe and only Blythe. Roux cared only about the harpy’s survival and well-being. Will not flash.
“I told you this would happen, Astra, and I never, ever lie.” The recognizable feminine voice sent a tide of fury crashing down his spine. Penelope the wraith appeared at his side. “Well, except for the times I do, in fact, lie. But only then, I promise.”
“You did this to her,” he snarled, never turning from the fray.
“Oh, I did indeed. Quite well, actually.” How smug the wraith sounded. “Thank you for noticing.”
Nine minutes, five seconds remained. Swords swung. Whips lashed. Spears flew—along with body parts. Streams of scarlet sprayed and flowed. Grunts, groans, and curses filled the death-scented air. The injured and the dead toppled in every direction.
Roux leaned forward, attempting to get a closer look. Come on, come on. How was Blythe? If she were harmed...
The screaming grew louder.
“Why so glum?” Penelope simmered, as if she felt sorry for him. “I did warn you that I would strike, and you all but demanded I do my worst.”
Where was Blythe?
The wraith floated in front of him, blocking his view. “If you haven’t guessed, I’m draining your female this very second. Who knows how long she’ll last out there? Oh, that’s right. I do. I know. The answer is not much longer.”
How he wished to choke the life from this spectral being. How he wished to think! But the screams. Images of Blythe being bombarded with injuries assailed him. In these flashes, he saw open wounds. Missing limbs. Hemorrhaging organs.
Not knowing what else to do, he focused on Penelope and gritted out, “You want your meals. Very well. I’ll provide them. Now cease draining her.”
With a satisfied grin, she returned to his side. “Question. How can you provide me with two hundred meals when nearly everyone in this realm is scheduled to die within the next ten days?”
Eight minutes. “Before, you expected only one hundred meals.” Was that a head of sleek black hair he spied, rising from beneath two of the fallen? Yes! Though unsteady, Blythe made it to her feet with someone else’s daggers in hand.
“The price is double for my trouble, darling. You know how it goes. Inflation, and all that.”
Roux winced as a gorgon plowed into Blythe. The gorgon’s hair-snakes sank their fangs into the harphantom’s face. Despite her weakness, she managed to work a dagger between their bodies and gut her opponent. But her wobbling worsened when she climbed to her feet. Compliments of an opponent’s venom?
Blood dripped from the punctures in her brow, blinding her. She swung her weapons at everything and nothing. A vampire sensed easy prey and swooped in with fangs bared. Roux opened his mouth without thought, intending to shout a warning. His oath erased his voice, keeping him quiet. There would be no interfering with the tournament.
His claws sank deeper into the pillar. Just before the bloodsucker reached her target, a banshee cut her down with a sword. Relief crested—and crashed. At least eighteen others switched their focus to the pale, trembling harphantom.
How much longer could Blythe succeed in this condition?
With no other recourse, Roux bit out, “I will feed you in Blythe’s place.” A thought that left him shuddering. Without the use of jewels, wraiths fed like phantoms. Lips to skin. A method he usually avoided by fair means or foul. But Roux wanted Blythe healthy, whole, and able to steal as many of his organs as she wished. Faced with the possibility of losing her, he could do nothing but trade his pride for the truth. Feeding this wraith was the only way to keep the harpy safe.
“I’m intrigued by the offer, but I’m not yet sold.” Penelope fluffed her mass of red hair. “I seek the meals to feed my subjects, you see. And I know what you’re thinking. I’m such a benevolent queen.”
A manticore—the original manticore—plowed into Blythe. The two hit the ground and rolled over the sand. Behind him, the royal court clapped and cheered. Razor sharp claws raked across the harphantom’s throat, and she jerked, blood pouring from the wounds. When she froze, Roux tensed. Was the manticore’s venom working through her system?
Seven minutes remained in the heat, but less than a second remained in her current battle. She must revive in time. She must!
As the manticore tensed, preparing to render another strike—this one delivered by her lengthening teeth—time seemed to slow. He rushed out, “I’ll consider feeding your wraiths as well, but you must allow Blythe to regain her strength while I’m contemplating it.”
“I’ll give you both one minute. No more. But probably less.”
“Do it!” he commanded, time returning to normal.
The manticore was in the process of whooshing down, intending to bite—the harphantom jolted with new life. With one hand, she reached up and caught her opponent by the throat. With the other hand, she punched. Her attacker staggered, her jaw broken.
Look at the Undoing go.
A warrior without equal, Blythe glided to her feet. Color returned to her cheeks. All grace and brutality, she repeatedly kicked her rival in the face. Savage stomps meant to cause as much damage as possible. Before the manticore could recover, the harphantom stepped inside her, vanishing. Seconds later, the manticore was using her own claws to rip out her own throat. Blythe had taken control of the body.
Only then did he breathe a sigh of renewed relief. Pride squared his shoulders. That’s my female.
No, no. Not mine. Not outside of their private quarters, where they seemed to be the only two people alive.
Unless she was his?
He hadn’t produced stardust for her but...maybe. If she belonged to him, he might belong to her, too. Though he’d never heard of a harpy receiving two consorts, stranger things had happened. Surely.
If he belonged to her, she would have to forgive him. They would talk more. Tease and play. Touch. Kiss. So badly he yearned to kiss her. To do all the things he contemplated every night while she tossed about in bed.
I will make her scream my name.
